


Window

by cjmarlowe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Formerly Anonymous, M/M, Masturbation, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to connect feeling the planes of hard muscle under his hand to the simultaneous feeling of someone touching him, like the two things are disconnected events (both parts of which feel very good to him all the same).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Window

They still haven't figured out what to do with him, or more truthfully, they still haven't figured out what they want _him_ to do for _them_. Steve doesn't have all that much say in it—he signed up to serve his country, and when he did he put it in someone else's hands to tell him just how to do that best. So because he hasn't been assigned anywhere just yet, in those few moments between scientists running tests on him and talking to other people about what kind of experience he had before the army ("Not a lot," said Steve, "do you need someone to illustrate, or sell newspapers?" "Oh, I think you could sell a whole lot more than that."), Steve gets time alone.

He's supposed to be sleeping, that's what this time is for, but he doesn't need sleep the way he used to, and hasn't he spent enough of his life confined to a bed already? There's a relocated pile of books he could be reading, books he does genuinely want to read, but instead he's sitting at the end of the bed running his hand down his body like it belongs to a stranger—it's hard to connect feeling the planes of hard muscle under his hand to the simultaneous feeling of someone touching him, like the two things are disconnected events (both parts of which feel very good to him all the same).

He looks up at the mirror on his closet door, meeting his own eyes, but it's that stranger who's looking back at him. A stranger who has a matching, naked lust in his eyes, unhidden in the privacy of his quarters. Steve calls him Rogers because it's him and also not him, and he needs to put a name to this man because Steve is still _Steve_ in his head. If his body now has unearned muscle memory, if he isn't clumsy within its new borders, that's not because he inhabits it comfortably.

It's like it's a window, not a mirror, and Steve's looking through it to the quarters of someone else.

Rogers is the kind of man that Steve, in those secret places that he _doesn't_ feel brave about, has always wanted. The kind of man who, even if Steve had put it out there, would never have wanted him back unless he put on lipstick and a dress (which had never been who he was, not even to get someone's attention, because someone wanting _that_ could never be someone wanting _him_ the way he was).

He's not entirely sure who he is now, but he knows he's the kind of man who still wants this, and still wants to be wanted for himself in return.

Erskine said the serum magnified everything about you. Maybe it magnified this, too.

In the mirror, Rogers pushes himself up with one hand and reaches down to push his underpants off with the other, all over _Steve_ , and Steve feels himself getting hot all over. The illusion is so _easy_ because Rogers doesn't show the flush at all, which Steve knows he's feeling because he's felt it so many times around the people who turn him on. Rogers wraps his hand around his cock, big and thick and hard, and Steve wants him so much the desire is the kind of ache he still feels.

And he can have it, he can have _him_. Rogers spreads his legs and strokes his cock, and Steve does too, the combination of fantasy and reality sending him spiralling off so quickly it should have made him dizzy. His body is just so beautiful. Rogers could have anyone he wanted. He could probably have men who didn't even like other men, and not get beat up for asking. But here he is wanting Steve, little Steve who reads books in his bunk while the others are out playing football, who sketches while his fellow soldiers talk about the girls they've been with, not because he's uninterested but because he has nothing to contribute to the conversation.

He never knew whether he liked to watch just because he liked to watch, or because he just settled for what he knew he could have (and most of his watching in his imagination on top of that, because where else could he get what he wanted), but now he knows he wants it like this anyway. He likes it like this. He likes seeing Rogers move his hands against his own body, one hand stroking himself off, the other alternating between bracing himself against the bed and running over his pecs, his abs, through his hair and over his throat. And always looking at Steve, because Steve is what is turning him on.

Steve doesn't come too quickly or too slowly but right at the perfect moment, at the apex of a stroke when the sensation has been building through him steadily but fiercely. He doesn't see Rogers' face as he comes because his own eyes are closed, but it's easy to imagine, lips parted and muscles standing out in his neck and gripping his cock as his chest heaves. When he opens them again, Rogers' hand is hanging loosely between his legs, thumb just resting at the base of his softening cock and streams of ejaculate on his body.

If Steve wasn't already settling into the afterglow, that all by itself might've made him come.

Normally this is the point where Steve is tired and sore and badly out of breath and ready to collapse on his bed, or whatever, for a while. Today he's not even tired. Today he's pretty sure he's just a few short minutes from being able to go it again.

The man in the mirror, the man with the perfect physique and the perfect health, is him, and Steve has to figure out how to adapt to that. But as he turns away from the mirror and tries to integrate himself again, he thinks that maybe, once in a while, he can still have this.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the original avengerkink meme prompt from LJ:
> 
> Tiny!Steve/Steve (Kinda) - Steve masturbating over himself masturbating - selfcest kinda  
> Little!Steve has always fantasized about watching some strapping, tall, muscly man touching himself while thinking about Steve (Little Steve, that is.). He used to get off on it but never thought he'd get the real thing because of the time and his stature. Now all he has to do is stand in front of the mirror and pretend the serum never existed. Yes, this is confusing, but all I'm asking is for Steve, pretending to be little Steve, to get off on watching Post!Serum!him get off by thinking about him (Little him :P)


End file.
